Chapter Text
【July 23, 2024】
That night, I don’t call him.
He doesn’t text either.
And I don’t explain.
Like when you know someone is waiting—but you pretend that waiting has nothing to do with you.
Too ambiguous. Too much like a threshold.
I can’t figure out where I stand with him, so I run.
And anyway, he doesn’t ask.
Two days later, I get dragged into DIT duty by a classmate.
I am stuck in the half-underground editing suite of the school building, phone tossed to the side with barely any signal.
Busy offloading cards, transcoding footage—checking my phone doesn’t even cross my mind.
When I finally wipe my eyes and glance at it, the message has come two hours earlier:
【Sylus】：Where are you?
I blink and quickly reply:
【Me】：School
Another message pops up almost instantly:
【Sylus】：You don’t have class, why’re you there?
【Me】：Helping a friend shoot her thesis
【Sylus】：Can I come find you?
I reply on impulse:
【Me】：Plz don’t
Then, just in case, I add:
【Me】：I don’t want to go to jail because of you
【Sylus】：I’m coming to see you, not blow up the building
【Me】：NOOOO
A moment later:
【Sylus】：What time do you wrap?
I check the time.
【Me】：If everything goes well, around eight
He doesn’t answer after that, and I don’t ask if he is coming.
He’s the kind of person who—if he is coming, he comes. No announcement needed.
When we wrap, most students have already left.
Someone waves goodbye, and I smile back, arms full of gear, waiting on the final footage transfer.
By the time I finish, half the lights in the building have shut off.
That’s when I always get that irrational fear—like maybe I’m so invisible they’ll forget and lock me in.
As soon as I step outside, the night wind hits me in the face. I shiver.
The distant chime of the Muni rings out. Not wanting to wait for the next train, I quicken my pace toward the station—
But from a side alley, a black car rolls silently into view. No headlights, only dim parking lights glowing.
I instinctively take a step back.
Then—it honks.
The window doesn’t roll down, but I see that profile.
It is him.
Sylus.
He tilts his head and gestures toward the passenger seat with his chin.
I look down at my disheveled self, then at the heavy hard drive bag.
No energy to drag it to the train station.
I sigh and get in, closing the door behind me.
“Someone mess with you?”
He asks it calmly.
“What?”
Fatigue and irritation have piled up—I don’t register it right away.
“Everyone else left. Why are you still there alone?”
“I need to stay and offload footage.”
He stares at me for two seconds, as if checking whether I’m forcing myself.
In the end, he says nothing.
“If it’s that tiring, just quit. I can invest in you.”
There it is again. His usual line.
“I’m not doing it for money, I’m helping a friend.”
I toss my bag down and lean back in the seat.
“So generous?”
“Why don’t you share a little of that kindness with me.”
The light turns red, and the car comes to a stop.
He turns to me.
“Why don’t you call me last night?”
I stare at the windshield and shrug it off:
“Forgot.”
“Be honest.”
“Didn’t want to.”
He keeps looking at me. No jokes in his eyes.
“You think I’m pressuring you?”
“Hard to say.”
The moment we cross the intersection, the car slowly veers off to the side and parks along the curb.
He pulls the handbrake and says coolly:
“Then get out.”
I freeze. Fingers go cold.
For the first time, I see what most people probably see in him.
This man—he has always been like this.
He’s only a bit different with me.
And I have been taking that for granted.
I lower my head and unbuckle the seatbelt, awkward in every move. I don’t know what else to do.
Just as I am about to get out, he suddenly tugs on my bag strap.
I stop mid-motion, shoulders trembling slightly.
“…You sure about that?”
“If you get out, I won’t let you back in.”
His tone isn’t harsh, but it drops like a stone in water.
I follow the line of his hand—slowly, slowly—to his face.
His red eyes in the dark glow like twin alcohol flames, burning quietly across my skin.
He hasn’t even moved.
But the world around me shivers.
He isn’t trying to scare me.
He is warning me—if I don’t want this, then I should stay away.
But a voice inside me whispers:
You keep pushing away what you want… are you just testing whether he’ll come back?
What if he really doesn’t?
I think about laughing it off, dodging like I always do.
But he is close. Closer than usual.
And this time, there is no humor in his gaze.
I open my mouth to explain.
My voice comes out rough:
“I am afraid you’d think I’m clingy.”
He looks at me. His voice is soft.
“But you already are clingy.”
“I’m not.”
He doesn’t argue.
Just lifts a finger—points at my eyes, then at himself.
“Since the day we met, your eyes haven’t left me.”
I flush instantly, ears burning with embarrassment.
I reach out to push him, frustrated. He doesn’t dodge, doesn’t tease—just asks quietly:
“You want to know why it’s you?”
I don’t answer.
“Spica.”
The first time he calls my name.
Though I know—he has known it all along.
“Honestly, I don’t even know the answer. Maybe it’s just… because it is.”
The light turns green. Horns sound from behind.
He doesn’t move. Just glances at the rearview mirror, as if he doesn’t mind making anyone wait.
I don’t push him either.
We sit there in silence.
Eventually, I mutter:
“Don’t cause trouble. Just drive.”
He gives a soft “Mm,” steps on the gas, and merges smoothly into the night traffic.
And me—I have no way back.
I buckle up again.
He doesn’t say another word.
Just lets go of the strap on my bag and returns both hands to the wheel.
The car slides forward.
Outside, neon lights streak past the windows, cool-toned beams grazing our faces like ticking seconds.
But inside, it is silent as deep water.
Neither of us speaks.
Not until we pull up to my building.
I unbuckle, grab my bag, and get out without hesitation.
“Byebye, Sylus.”
I use a light tone, not wanting him to know I kind of want to stay just one second longer.
He lowers the window.
Arm draped over the door, head tilted slightly—those unreal red eyes glowing under the streetlight.
“You gonna call me tomorrow? Yes, no, maybe so?”
The contrast between his tone and usual presence is absurd—almost like he is mimicking someone else’s charm.
My chest tightens, but I shoot back:
“No promises.”
“What can you promise?”
“…Nothing at all.”
I turn, about to walk through the door.
“Wait.”
I pause. Turn back.
He kills the engine and steps out. The door closes with a low, solid sound.
He doesn’t hesitate—just circles the car, walks toward me.
Each step steady.
The warm yellow streetlight casts his silhouette across the sidewalk, stretching behind him.
It reaches me. Swallows half my body into shadow.
The back of my neck warms up, like something has clamped around my air.
He stands in front of me.
Only one breath of space between us.
“Can I do something to you?”
His voice is low. Like he is holding back something uncertain.
I look up, eyes locked on him, but don’t answer right away.
“Let me ask something first.”
“If I don’t answer right, would you say no?”
For the first time, there is a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.
“I would.”
He gives a quiet “alright,” like sipping a small shot of liquor.
“Will you get tired of me?”
He doesn’t answer immediately.
Looks at me like he is weighing whether to say something cruel.
In the end, he picks a different kind of truth:
“If I do, you can kill me.”
A soft snort escapes me, but my eyes sting.
“How?”
He smiles slightly.
“We’ll figure it out.”
He doesn’t step forward.
Doesn’t push.
Just stands there with his eyes glinting in the streetlight.
And suddenly I know—if I don’t move now, I miss something I regret forever.
I don’t even remember what happens next.
My body acts first.
I rise on my toes, crashing into him.
Almost at the same time, he bends down instinctively—like he has been waiting for it.
Something impossible to reach softens the moment he leans in.
There are no frantic breaths.
The kiss is gentle. So light it feels like we might break it.
Slow, real, new.
Like he has been waiting for permission.
And finally gets it.
My fingers tremble.
Not from fear—
But because it has been so long since I am kissed like I am the only one.
No randomness. No substitution. No possession.
Just the feeling of being wanted, as if it is written.
Our noses nearly brush. My lashes graze his skin.
Then his hand lands on my back.
He holds me.
Fully.
Firmly.
With a weight that says he has finally taken hold of something he isn’t sure he deserves—and has no intention of letting go.
He isn’t pushy.
For a few seconds, our foreheads rest together, breathing each other’s air.
Then he kisses me again.
Slightly deeper this time—like he realizes I won’t run.
His tongue just barely traces my bottom lip.
Doesn’t force—just asks.
My heart pounds so loud, it feels like the whole world can hear.
But I don’t pull away.
Eventually, he eases back a half step, still leaning against me, breath warm.
I tug him closer by the collar.
Not ready to let go.
Until he starts laughing—too amused to keep kissing me.
“You’re even clingier now.”
I mutter:
“Not like you mind.”
He doesn’t tease.
Just smiles softly and cups my face—
Kissing me again. Once. Twice. Gentle taps like punctuation.
I know this isn’t a fairytale.
But in that moment, I want to believe that all his “for nows” can one day become “forever.”
—tbc—